


The Convict

by Sincorah



Series: Levana [1]
Category: The Chronicles of Riddick Series
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Gen, Non-Graphic Violence, Threats of Rape/Non-Con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-15
Updated: 2015-02-15
Packaged: 2018-03-13 00:08:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3360449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sincorah/pseuds/Sincorah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After dropping off Jack and the Imam on New Mecca, Riddick left to draw off the mercs in a bid to protect them. He was captured, and imprisoned (temporarily) in a prison that had less than maximum security. A young thief is caught in a difficult situation, and ends up in the very same cell as the convict.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Arrested

**Author's Note:**

> My first Riddick fanfic, and I honestly can't get a good read off the man, so he may be OOC. Apologies for any inaccuracies. Please enjoy!

Levana struggled helplessly against her captors, eyes wild with terror as she was dragged closer and closer to the cell at the end of the dark hall. The guards had taken great pleasure in taunting her about her new cellmate in great detail, informing her of how she would be used harshly for his pleasure and then tortured to death. She knew little of the man, but had heard stories of his incredible strength and speed, and his ruthless and vicious nature. There were rumors of careless guards from many different slams that had been literally torn into pieces by this man.  
Regardless of her profession, Levana had lived a relatively sheltered life, never having been with a man (suggestive eyebrow) or even sharing a kiss of a romantic nature. Now, even as she fought to get free, she pleaded with the guards; begging for mercy, or even just a quick death rather than the horrors she would face being locked in a rather small cell with only a dangerous convict for company. The men ‘escorting’ her simply laughed cruelly at her pitiful attempts to escape, and to beg mercy. They had lost one of their own in 'the incident' and as such were far from inclined to show clemency of any kind to the girl.  
Even through the blinding terror threatening to overwhelm her, Levana couldn’t help but feel a flash of annoyance. Honestly, hadn’t the men ever heard of an accident? She had not meant to kill that guard; he had just startled her in the wrong place at the wrong time. She had been in the middle of a very important heist, and she had acted on instinct. The elaborately jeweled dagger in her hand had been plunged through his heart, retracted, and then slashed through his throat before he could so much as gasp in surprise.  
In her shock at the unintentional kill, the young thief had lost precious time, and her escape was foiled by several other guards that had been alerted to a theft in the area and happened across her in the wrong place at the wrong time. Levana had tried to fight, but she was best trained in stealth and speed, not hand to hand combat against several opponents. She had been taken prisoner with humiliating ease, and found guilty of theft and murder.  
What passed as the local justice system had sentenced her to life in prison, and she was sent with a pack of mercs to the nearest high-security slam. As the news of the murdered guard had spread through the ranks of those in the prison, hatred spread throughout the guards, until one had the brilliant idea to make her suffer by giving her accommodations in the same cell as their most dangerous inmate. Hence her current situation.  
She had learned long ago that life was far from fair, but now she had to wonder if perhaps life held a personal grudge against her. Surely a simple thief (and accidental murderer) shouldn’t have to suffer a death such as this. Why could she not be hanged, or shot down by a firing squadron or even just receive a good-old-fashioned knife to her throat? She fought back a terrified whimper as the guards trained their weapons on the door before a lone man unlocked it and bodily threw the girl in.

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Levana hit the ground hard, bruising her forearms and knees as she landed roughly on the filthy flooring. Not daring to move just yet, she kept her head down and remained as still and quiet as possible, extending her senses to try to locate him even as she estimated how long it would take her to die at her cellmate’s hands. Perhaps he would be taken by surprise and kill her swiftly. Then again, he could choose to prolong her agony and torture her very slowly, drawing out her death for days or even weeks if he so desired. The guards had made it clear that she could expect no interference from them. She was entirely at the mercy of the convict.  
She heard a slight rustling of movement in the corner nearest to the door, a strategic location, as anyone coming in would have to walk directly inside before turning to face the threat. When no further movements could be heard, Levana cautiously raised her head a few inches, and glanced around quickly. The room was darkened, although a dim light was granted from somewhere above. Her eyes took a few moments to adjust, and she wondered why the convict had yet to strike. Perhaps he was toying with her, waiting to see what she would do.  
Giving it another minute with no further sounds forthcoming from the corner, Levana carefully shifted position until she was in a low hunter’s crouch. She turned slowly, keeping low to the ground as she looked to the dark corner. There was a large form on the ground, and as her eyes adjusted, she could see from the movements of his chest that his breathing was uneven and shallow.  
No sooner had she realized that, than she smelled blood, and realized that the convict must be wounded. This could be her chance! Pulling one of the blades she had managed to conceal from the guards, she very slowly inched her way towards the dark form. As she drew nearer, she nearly gagged as the sharp smell of blood, both fresh and several days old, threatened to overwhelm her.  
Her eyesight continued to improve as she adjusted to the dim lighting, and she could now make out some filthy rags that served as bandages; clearly they had been an attempt at helping him to heal, but were very poorly applied. Levana could only assume that he had been too badly hurt to properly patch himself up, and the guards couldn’t be bothered. At this point, she was right beside his body, and trembling in fear and anticipation. If she could kill him now, there was a chance she would live long enough to escape this slam and start a new life under a new name.  
She lifted the knife and set the tip directly above his heart. It would be so easy. Just a flick of her wrist and the blade would find its target with ease. But something stayed her hand. Thief though she may be, Levana had never been a murderer at heart. Before the guard, she had never taken a life, and she did not wish to repeat the experience, especially not upon a wounded, (seemingly) unarmed, and unconscious man. So, although all of her survival instincts told her to kill this man to ensure her own safety, she removed her hand and re-sheathed the knife in her boot.  
Taking a moment now to truly look at her cellmate, Levana was a bit awed by what she could see; before her lay a tall, very muscular and powerful body that seemed to almost radiate power, even while in its current position. She couldn’t help but be impressed, even though she knew full well that when the convict woke up, she would most likely meet her death. However, there was nothing she could do about it, short of killing him. Which she could not do. Would not do.  
Allowing her medical training and instincts to overwhelm her thoughts, which told her to stay away, she carefully reached out and moved aside the rags covering the man’s powerful chest. She had a passable amount of knowledge and training as a healer; when one is a thief, one needs to be able to take care of oneself no matter what conditions they may find themselves in. Levana hissed softly when she saw the extent of damage to the body of the convict.  
He had been stabbed in the chest four times, all in non-vital areas, but places that would still cause a great deal of pain. She looked a bit closer, and realized that at least two of the wounds were badly infected, and it was quite possible the others had been as well. She quickly tore up some of the cleaner rags available, and set to cleaning the wounds as best as she could. There was a small bowl with water that was passably clean, and she dipped the rags in it before gently cleansing the blood and filth from his chest.  
Levana flinched slightly when the body beside her moved slightly, and she froze, hoping that he was not waking just yet. *What am I doing? Why should I help him, when I know full well he will end me as soon as he recovers enough to do so! I must be insane...* Shaking her head slightly to clear her thoughts, she returned to the task at hand. Insane she may be, but she wouldn’t leave a man to die if it was within her power to save him. Even thieves have something of a moral code. At least she did.  
After all his wounds were as clean as possible in these conditions, Levana set aside the rags and rose, moving swiftly towards the door. “Hey!” she belted out as loud as she could; making two of the patrolling guards jump slightly. These two were younger than most of the others, and didn’t seem to share the level of intense hatred of her that their comrades did. That or they didn’t know who she was. One of them aimed his weapon towards the door as the other cautiously stepped forward a bit.  
“What do you want, thief?” he demanded roughly, trying to seem unperturbed at his proximity to the cell of the most dangerous convict in the prison. “My arm was deeply cut in a bar fight a few days back, and it has gotten infected, badly. I could die without medical supplies!” Levana made her eyes go wide and fill with tears, hoping they would buy it. Apparently, the men were as stupid as they looked, as one immediately rushed off to find some rudimentary medical supplies while the other remained on guard.  
Ignoring the somewhat suspicious glares from the older guard, Levana accepted the clear water, clean bandages, and sterile needle and thread from the younger. He had even included a small container of what appeared to be an anti-biotic formula of some sort. When he saw her looking at it curiously, he shrugged sheepishly and said, “My sister is a healer, and she sent some of her supplies with me when I was conscripted to work here. That is a blend she invented herself.” He looked so proud and pleased; Levana mused how she could work that to her advantage in the future, even as she smiled innocently and nodded in thanks.  
After the two had continued on with their patrol, she paced silently back toward the still-unconscious man lying in the darkness. Kneeling beside him once more, she gently spread a generous amount of the salve over his wounds, and then used the needle and thread to carefully stitch up the two deepest. From what gossip the guards had been all too eager to share with her, it appeared that he had been in something of a scuffle with nine (nine?‼) other prisoners, five of whom were dead. The other four were in what passed as a healing ward of the prison, although Levana doubted it would do them much good.  
She guessed that he had had no wish to be subjected to the torture chamber that passed as a healing ward, and concealed how hurt he truly was until he was ‘safely’ back in his cell. When she had finished making the tiny, precise stitches, she slathered still more salve over all the wounds. Realizing if she left them exposed, it could easily lead to further infection in these filthy conditions, and so Levana pondered how to bandage them properly.  
Shifting her position slightly, she moved to sit just behind his head, and she put her hands under his shoulders and very gently lifted slightly as she slid forward beneath him, until his head lay upon her shoulder, and his own shoulders were supported by her upright torso. In this position, she could wrap the bandages all the way around his chest, and she carefully did so.  
He still had not awakened, which was rather worrying. Levana placed her hands upon his close-shaven head and felt gently for any bumps or lumps that were out of place. Finding nothing concerning, she deduced that his body had simply given out from the pain of the stab wounds, and was now in a healing sleep. She carefully lowered his upper body back to the ground, removing her outer cloak and folding it as a make-shift pillow for his head.  
Once she was free to move around once again, Levana began to pace and think. Now that the convict’s wounds had been seen to, he would most likely make a speedy recovery. He didn’t seem the type to remain incapacitated for long, and his healing speed was astounding. Even from the couple of hours it had been from when she had first been thrown in the cell, his breathing had evened out and his bleeding slowed. The fight must have been more recent than she had believed at first. At the rate he was healing, he could be back on his feet within twelve hours, possibly even sooner.  
While Levana wasn’t about to fool herself into thinking he would spare her life just because she had helped him, she couldn’t help but hope that perhaps he could feel some small measure of gratitude. Surely even convicts have something of a code of honor? Maybe, if he was feeling generous, he would grant her a swift and somewhat painless death, rather than the slow torture and rape she was dreading.  
With these uneasy thoughts plaguing her mind, Levana curled up in the corner across from her cellmate, the position allowing her to keep an eye on both him and the door. She found her eyelids growing progressively heavier as the minutes passed, and she knew that her strength was waning. She would need to sleep eventually, so she decided to do so while everything seemed calm, however temporary the false sense of peace may be.


	2. Musings

When the thief was jolted back into consciousness several hours later, she cursed herself for having slept so long and being off her guard. The noise that had awakened her was a guard leaving a porridge-like substance that passed as prison food and a skin of water. Fortunately, when she poured a small amount into her hand, it appeared clean and safe to drink. Deciding that even if it were poisoned, there were worse ways to die, Levana quickly swallowed about a cup’s worth, before turning once again to her seemingly unconscious patient.  
She quietly moved over to where he still lay, missing the slight gleam of silver from his cracked eyelids that betrayed his awareness. As she knelt behind his shoulders once again, she observed that his breathing was slightly quicker, although much more even. It was almost as though he were in a state of REM, or awake but pretending to sleep and even having the discipline to control his breathing.   
Shaking her head at the foolishness of such a thought, Levana very gently placed her hands under his shoulders again and lifted until his upper body once again rested upon her torso. Taking the water skin, she carefully tilted his head back and coaxed his dry lips open, pouring a small amount of the water into his mouth. She then gently massaged his throat muscles until he instinctively swallowed, prompting a small smile of triumph on her part as she repeated the motion several times.   
After she had given him enough water to aid in his healing, although not so much as to cause a problem of having to relieve himself while still injured later, she set the skin aside. Throughout all of this, her sharp eyes had somehow missed the hidden amusement in the eyes of her charge as he faked remaining unconscious.   
Her hands moved to the bandages on his chest, and two things happened simultaneously. An almost unperceivable flinch came from the body on her lap, as though its owner was about to awaken or attack, and a guard passing by the door stumbled and crashed into the wall with a rather loud ‘thud’. The disturbance at the door led to Levana not noticing the movement of the convict, and she quickly but carefully scooted out from under him, gently laying his head back down upon the makeshift pillow.  
She hurried to the door, glancing out the miniscule window to try to see what had happened. Behind her, the convict turned his head slightly into the soft cloth cradling his head and inhaled the scent of the thief. Levana saw the guard sprawled in an ungainly heap in the corridor outside, and let out a snort of amusement and a rude gesture, which had the man flushing in embarrassment and anger.  
“Keep laughing, stupid thief! You are dead, you know that? The minute he gets sick of using you for his sick pleasures you’re dead!” Levana retreated back a step, flinching slightly at the reminder of her future, even as she smirked slightly. It seemed that not a single person had realized that her cellmate had been injured.  
“I know. But perhaps if I please him enough he will have the mercy to kill me quickly instead of slow torture, hm?” she murmured sweetly, smiling deviously at the guard. “After all, it’s not as though I’m the one who brought him here, nor am I the one keeping him here. When he breaks out, how safe do you think that you will be?” The guard glared and tried to look unaffected, but Levana could see the color drain from his face, and she could smell his fear.  
He muttered something that was mostly indistinguishable, regarding how the convict (Riddick, apparently was the name) would not ever escape. At that, Levana laughed outright, and used her most sickeningly sweet condescending voice as she told him to ‘keep telling himself that’. He responded by giving her a bit of advice as of to where she could go, and take her opinions with her, and then he left the area swiftly.  
Levana chuckled as he all but fled, knowing he was already very uncomfortable around this area, and now would most likely do anything he could to not patrol this section again. She turned back to the room once she was sure he was gone, and quietly knelt beside her patient again. She felt his pulse, and then checked his bandages. Already, the wounds looked to have been healing for nearly a week, rather than the day or so it truly had been. His physiology was truly incredible, and Levana found herself wondering what race he hailed from.  
She cleaned the wounded areas again, and then slathered the remaining salve on them before bandaging them up once more. Looking carefully at the rise and fall of his chest, she frowned, wondering why he had yet to awaken. Again she gently ran her hands over his head, feeling for bumps or abrasions, and yet again she found nothing alarming or out of place. He should have been conscious at this point in his recovery. She leaned over his body and placed her ear near his mouth, listening to see if his lungs were congested.  
Once that idea was also discarded, she felt at a loss. Her area of expertise in healing was mainly with minor to moderate wounds, not illnesses or severe conditions leaving one unconscious for such a long time. She felt his forehead with the inside of her wrist, but there was no sign of a fever. Sighing slightly, she shifted positions until she was again behind him resting his head on her shoulder.  
She coaxed some more water into him, and even took a bit of the porridge, watered it down further, and managed to get him to swallow some of that as well. With that done, she knew only that sleep would most likely be the best cure for whatever ailed him, and eased him back to the ground, adjusting the cloak pillow accordingly.  
Levana then quietly rose to her feet and began to pace once again, as she wondered if there was a chance of escaping from this slam before her cellmate did wake up. She pondered the options, occasionally moving her stance even as she walked, unintentionally going through motions that had become routine for her. As a thief, and a very skilled one at that, it was necessary for her to remain in peak physical condition, and every day she would go through a type of workout regimen that enhanced and maintained her speed, endurance, and strength.  
As she worked through the various steps, behind her, her patient observed silently with an unreadable gleam in his silver eyes. He made no movement, there was no sound to alert her of the danger she was in, but Levana felt a shiver run down her spine and she spun quickly, instinctively dropping into a defensive crouch as she looked first to the door, wondering what danger she had sensed. Seeing nothing from the outside, she shifter her gaze to her cellmate, dread and fear making her suddenly uneasy in the small space.   
However, by the time she was looking at him, his eyes were already closed once more, and he appeared as though nothing had changed and he was still out. She couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched, but she decided to merely stay on her guard, and ignore it for the time being. If any real danger presented itself, she would be ready. Hopefully. The thief sighed; shaking her head to try and clear it, then returned to her little corner and curled up again, shivering slightly from the chill without her cloak.  
Although she was still on edge, the fear, suspense, and events of the last day hit her hard, making her body droop with exhaustion. The rest she had gotten earlier had helped, but it was not nearly enough to fully revitalize her. She felt her eyes fall shut, and couldn’t even bring herself to care. If she was lucky, maybe Riddick would wake up while she was still sleeping and finish her off without her even having to awaken. With those less than cheerful thoughts in mind, she gave into the darkness and fell into a deep sleep.  
No sooner had her eyes closed than did her cellmate silently rise to his feet in a swift, fluid movement. There was an almost undetectable stiffness in his motions, as his body automatically adjusted to its still-healing wounds. The convict reached into the pocket of his trousers and removed his shaded goggles, placing them on his head, but not covering his eyes. He silently strode over to the sleeping form of his new cellmate and stood looking down at her with an unreadable expression.  
Even in her sleep, Levana was shivering slightly, the chill affecting her worse than it would have had she not been so physically exhausted. Her body was weakened from prolonged stress and fear, and it had little energy to fight off the cold as she slept. However, she was so exhausted that the normally light sleeper continued in her deep sleep as her cloak was carefully placed around her shoulders to ward off the cold by the very one she feared so greatly.


	3. Confrontation

Levana awoke with a start as the door loudly banged open and two guards strode in fearlessly. She shot to her feet, moving back a few paces as they entered. They sneered at her slightly in contempt, and then turned to her seemingly still unconscious cellmate. “Get up scum!” the grisly looking one with a scar over his left eyebrow barked, moving toward the convict with a clear intent to kick him. Levana instantly moved to intercept him, her protective instincts flaring.  
While her mind told her that she had no place trying to protect him, and that she was only asking for trouble, her instincts and training once again fought, and prevailed, and she put herself in the line of danger instead of standing by. With all the effort she had put into healing the man, she wasn’t about to let these fools harm him while he was injured. It would be the height of dishonor, even for a lowly thief. *Sheesh, my instincts and honor both want me dead very much...*  
“Move, girl!” the scar-face spat, favoring Levana with a wicked glare that would have had most cowering. Levana didn’t even flinch. “Why?” she demanded, allowing a very small degree of her anger into her voice. “What do you intend to do with him?” The guard snarled at the back talk, clearly unused to this much fight in a female, and then smirked cruelly at the question.  
“ He’s in for it now, he is. One of the inmates involved in that scuffle the other day was the son of a very rich and powerful noble. Seems he was only a couple of days away from buying his brat’s freedom when the lad tangled with this scum and was killed. The father is demanding retribution on the guilty party from the prison, so we are here to take retribution.” The guard seemed entirely too pleased by the idea, and Levana was having none of it. If the lad had been dishonorable enough to attack a single opponent with eight others on the boy’s side, and still gotten himself killed, then good riddance.  
Contemplating the next four minutes or so of her life, Levana nodded submissively, standing passively to one side with a very contrite expression. Thinking all the while that if all went according to plan, she would be dead within the hour, no rape or torture necessary. As the guards both attained varying sneers and smirks at her seeming compliance, the little thief fell into her favorite combat position, a perfect blend of defensive and aggressive simultaneously. The fools thinking to harm the wounded man behind her did not see an unarmed little girl as a threat, which would be the last mistake they ever made.  
The two brushed past her, presenting her with perfect targets in the form of their unprotected backs. The thief felt something vicious burning in her blood at the thought of her patient being harmed, and although she had not previously been a murderer, she was re-evaluating that decision. On special occasions, ghosting an untrustworthy and treacherous guard or two would be a service to all those out there who still had honor. Men such as these gave all prison guards a bad name, so really, she was doing the good ones a favor.  
Thus, before the two could take so much as another step towards Riddick, Levana had targeted the lethal pressure points on the back of scar-face’s neck, pulled a dagger from his own person, and spilled his blood upon the ground. The other barely had the time to turn in shock before the thief was on him, hoping to have unbalanced him enough by surprise to compensate for her lack of brute strength in a fair fight.  
Perhaps a minor miscalculation on her part, Levana realized, as she knew now that she would not be dead within the hour. The guard had missed any of her vitals that would grant a swift death, so now she would have to deal with bleeding out. Great. At least she had ghosted him shortly after he had taken the dagger to her thigh. It had hit an artery, or so she guessed by the amount of blood pumping methodically out of her body to mix with that of the corpses on the ground.  
She felt her vision begin to grow just slightly dark, and she felt mildly dizzy from the blood loss in its very early stages. At least she would be unconscious for the actual dying bit. The thief supposed she should be grateful. Small mercies and all that. As she staggered back from the corpses a couple of steps, trying to stay on her feet, she noticed a swift movement out of the corner of her eye, and turned to find the convict standing and staring directly at her.  
Levana tried to stifle the small whimper that managed to escape her nonetheless as she saw the personification of her greatest fears on his feet staring at her like a predator would his prey. She stumbled back several more steps, praying to any who might be listening that she would die before he could touch her. The silver orbs glanced down at the corpses at his feet for a moment, then turned back to once again study the girl before him.  
“Didn’t figure you for a murderer, judgin’ by your scent.” The low, rumbling voice sent shivers of icy fear down her spine, and she retreated yet further. When he grinned, exposing gleaming white teeth, she flinched. He slowly began to approach her, unhurried and assured of his victory, even as she knew his confidence was fully justified. She was entirely at his mercy.  
As he came closer and closer, Levana tried to back away farther, then gasped slightly as her back collided with the wall behind her, the movement jarring her wounded thigh. She slid sideways against the wall, vision dimming from blood loss and fear, and she wound up trapped in a corner, trying to make herself as small as possible. Her desperate actions seemed to amuse him, and a deep chuckle reverberated off the walls of the small cell.  
It was quickly cut off, however, when the girl finally gave in to the pain and fear; her body seeming to fold in on itself and then slump to the ground. The thief watched through progressively dulling eyes as a pair of heavy black boots came into view, and her last conscious thought was a hope that he would have the mercy to let her die in peace.

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Pain. Lots of it, as well as a sense of lingering fear that Levana couldn’t quite seem to shake. Her thoughts felt fuzzy, and she wondered if perhaps she had been drugged. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time that had happened. That theory was disproved, however, as the throbbing pain in her thigh brought her thoughts into a slightly sharper focus, seeming to form a meager measure of coherency. Slowly her brain registered that aside from the dull pounding in her head and the sharper sensations in her upper leg, she felt warm and comfortable. Was she at one of her safe houses?  
No, she decided, she couldn’t be, unless her bed had somehow turned into a veritable wall of rippling muscle under smooth skin interspersed with cloth. Was she laying on someone? What had happened? Then her memories of the past few days returned, and it took every ounce of self control she had to not flinch, scream, and try to run away all at once. As it was, she only managed the two latter. Her heart rate spiked, and she knew her fear was a tangible scent, especially to one such as Riddick.  
*Please, please whoever is out there, whoever may be listening, let him kill me now. Please, I don’t want to have to go through the multiple tortures I could so easily suffer at his hands.* Levana had flinched, and then frozen, waiting for him to make a move, hoping against hope that he would have mercy. “Finally awake then, little thief?” his deep voice rumbled out, still laced with a dark amusement. She nodded minutely, not trusting her own voice just yet, but figuring that ignoring him could anger him, and the calmer he felt, the swifter her death could be.  
She was rewarded for the effort with another chuckle that seemed to reverberate from the base of his chest, and she wondered what could possibly be so amusing. She couldn’t help but notice the reversal of their positions when she had been tending to his wounds, and she wondered if it was purely coincidental or if he had been more aware than she had thought. She lay half-propped up, her torso and head resting against his still-bandaged chest. Glancing down, she noticed that her thigh had been expertly bandaged, the wrappings matching the material she had obtained to tend to his wounds.  
Her heart sank slightly, and she tried to steel herself, thinking that the only conceivable reason he would have to spend any effort on trying to heal her would be to prolong her life, and thereby, his entertainment. Against her will, her body began to tremble in fear, anticipation of unspeakable pain and humiliation making her weak. All of her instincts were screaming at her to run, to get up and get away from the danger at her unprotected back.  
He said nothing further, but when she tried to unobtrusively move away a little, his arms closed around her. The weight was a clear threat, although he did not apply enough pressure to cause any pain. She froze again, not willing to risk anything else just yet, and continued to tremble slightly.  
Several minutes passed, and there was no change. Levana continued to remain as still as she could force herself to be, and he continued to hold her gently. Her trembling very, very gradually slowed, and then eventually stilled, and she permitted herself to relax minutely against him. So warm. Her eyes began to drift shut again, as she was still far from well rested. Momentarily panicking again, Levana tried to keep herself awake by force of will, but it was a losing battle.  
As she began to give in, she noted numbly that the two guards’ corpses were gone. *They must have been removed some time while I was out. I wonder what excuse Riddick gave the patrol for the bodies...* Her pain-drunk musings were interrupted as combined fear and blood loss were working alongside her body’s exhaustion against her, and she found herself once again welcoming the peaceful darkness of oblivion.


	4. Bargaining

Nearly six hours later, the thief woke once again, feeling an ache in her leg as the wound was well into its healing. She had begun to move slightly, about to sit up, when she remembered her situation and froze in place. Her outer cloak was beneath her head now, in an exact replica of the way she had placed it beneath her cellmate’s head, and he was no longer behind her. Tensing up, she glanced around the dimness of the cell, immediately locating the other occupant.  
The convict was comfortably sprawled against the wall near his corner by the door, apparently eating the porridge-like substance that had once again been pushed into the cell by the indifferent guards. His silver eyes turned to her, silently seeming to size her up once again, and he placed the food back on the ground. When he rose to his feet, the thief began to tremble slightly once more, knowing that this time she could expect no such mercy as passing out from blood loss. And if that being a mercy wasn’t ironic, Levana had no desire to know what was.  
When Riddick began to approach her, she tried to scoot backwards, hampered greatly by her damaged leg. She whimpered slightly from the pain and fear, and knew that she was about to go through a great deal that she was not able or willing to handle. He towered over her cowering form all too soon, and she flinched when he crouched beside her.  
His terrifying, rolling chuckle once again sounded in the little cell, and the thief once more wondered what could possibly be so amusing to him, even through the haze of terror. “So you can patch me up when I get knifed, but when I try to return the favor you try an’ run. Mind explainin’, little thief?” The deep voice sounded sincerely curious beneath the dark amusement, and Levana tried to gather her thoughts enough to actually speak. “I... I meant no disrespect! I just didn’t think you would waste your time trying to help me...” her voice came out as a terrified whisper, and she trailed off quickly, hoping this answer would satisfy him.  
He smirked, a dark and menacing expression that somehow lacked malice, and replied, “So you can speak to me, little thief. I was under the impression you could only talk when you were back-sassing clumsy guards.” She flushed slightly at the reminder, and averted her eyes quickly to the ground. “As for helping you, what’s the point in lettin’ you die? I have no use for a corpse.” He left the rest of that sentence unspoken, and Levana shivered, knowing all too well what he could have added.  
However, when he moved again, he was headed back towards the door. Levana didn’t have long to relax though, as he returned very swiftly, this time carrying a bowl of the porridge. She remained on the ground, unsure of his intentions, but not willing to risk angering him if she could avoid it. He crouched beside her once more, and grinned at her fearful visage. “How do you wanna do this? Should I let you use me for a pillow again and hand-feed you like you did to me?” The young thief cowered back at the reminder, fearful that she had offended and angered him by her earlier treatment.  
“Forgive me...” she forced herself to whisper. “I truly meant no disrespect. I only wanted to ensure that you had sufficient nutrients to help speed your healing process.” The thief fell silent once more, still trembling in fear and desperately hoping to have caused no further offence. The convict seemed to accept that, and he moved to sit beside her. “Sit up.” He commanded, noting with a self-satisfied smirk that she immediately complied.   
Levana took the offered bowl with some confusion, but nodded her genuine thanks nonetheless, and began to eat quickly. If he was willing to allow her food for now, she was hardly about to start complaining. She ate quietly and efficiently, keeping her eyes away from his haunting silver ones. He seemed content to remain in a crouch beside her, too close beside her, as she ate what she could. When she finished, she placed the bowl on the ground between them and tried surreptitiously to inch away. No dice.   
The convict merely smirked at her pitiful attempt at subtlety, and pushed the empty bowl several feet away before closing the minute distance between them once again. Levana froze once more, shaking again. He reached out slowly, but when his hand came close to her shoulder, she panicked and kicked out, unfortunately using her right leg.   
He blocked the clumsy kick effortlessly, but the movement and subsequent block had badly jarred her wound, and she cried out softly, trying desperately to stifle her moans of pain. Levana felt her vision grow dark temporarily, and she slumped prostrate on the ground.  
Dimly she heard him saying something, the dark amusement finally gone from his voice, but she couldn’t understand what he was trying to say. Her breath came in short gasps as she struggled to remain conscious. Now she was truly terrified. ‘She had struck out against him.’ Even though her feeble kick had only been a reflex reaction when she panicked, he was unlikely to take it well. At this point, she would be lucky if he chose to kill her in less than a week.  
Panic overtook her completely, and all sense of reason fled her. She scrambled back blindly, desperately flinging up an arm to protect her face. A hand closed around her shoulder, and she struggled, trying to get away in vain. She was pulled to her feet, and then felt a flash of sharp pain across her face. It helped her to calm down slightly, and she was able to focus a bit more. Dimly she saw two silver moons gazing at her, and she thought distantly that it wasn’t such a bad thing to die, if they were the last things she would ever see.  
When she had fully come back to her senses, she realized that she was pinned against the wall of the cell, the convict’s powerful hands easily holding her shoulders in place. Levana instantly dropped her eyes to the floor and bowed her head, hoping he would begin whatever tortures he had planned now. After all, the sooner the torture started, the sooner it would end and she could find her peace in death. His deep, rumbling voice was unexpected, and she jumped slightly when he spoke. “Are you ‘fraid to look at me now, thief? Think I might ghost ya if you do?”  
Again, her fear that ignoring him would only feed his anger emerging, she managed a short, shaky nod of affirmation. There was a short pause, and then the hand on her left shoulder lifted and she felt his rough fingers under her chin, lifting it with a gentleness that was shocking. Forced to raise her head, the thief kept her eyes lowered respectfully, praying he would hurry up and do whatever he was going to do. However, he seemed quite content to wait, and several minutes passing awkwardly, until Levana finally dared a quick glance up to his face.   
Those hauntingly beautiful silver eyes trapped her own dark blue ones in their intensity, and the thief found herself incapable of looking away. When she had finally lifted her gaze, the smirk had returned to Riddick’s face, and he seemed very pleased about something that escaped Levana. When the thief lowered her eyes quickly once more, however, he made a sound of discontent. She flinched at it, and dared to whisper softly, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to strike out against you. I swear I didn’t mean to- I’m sorry...” Levana trailed off, knowing that she was doomed.   
Really, if the whole fearing-for-your-life, mind-numbing-and-body-freezing-terror thing hadn’t caused her to be so utterly terrified, Levana would have been able to feel more annoyance at the rumbling chuckles that once again came from her captor. “You think I’m going to ghost you for acting on instinct to try an’ protect yourself? Kid, you don’t know me very well, do ya?”  
Knowing it was a rhetorical question, the thief remained silent. Another minute passed, and she dared another glance up to the convict’s face, finding him gazing at her speculatively. When he did not react to her daring to look him in the eye, she kept her gaze up, and scanned his visage curiously. For being such a dangerous predator as she knew him to be, his face was surprisingly unscarred, and even rather handsome in a lethal, feral way.   
The convict seemed to have a great deal of patience, as he still had yet to do anything besides upturn her face and keep her pinned rather carefully to the wall. Although a great deal of patience was required in the daily life of a thief, Levana only had so much, and most of it had been expended already waiting for the torture to begin.  
At this point, she just wanted him to start, so that it could end and this waiting would be over. “Please” she managed to whisper, noting how his eyes shot to hers in a heartbeat, an eyebrow raising in surprise that she dared to speak without first being spoken to. “Please, just do whatever you want and get it over with. I know I cannot win in any fight against you, and all I can do is beg that you kill me quickly, if not painlessly. Please... I will do anything.” She dropped her gaze and bowed her head once more, hoping now that he would begin, and thus was shocked when his hands fell from her shoulder and chin, and he moved away.  
Looking up in surprise, she wondered what to do now. What did he want of her? The convict smirked at her expression, strolling back over to his corner and sprawling out comfortably on the floor. The thief took a wary step away from the wall, not liking the feeling of being trapped, and jumped slightly when Riddick spoke. “Well?” he drawled lazily, gesturing for the thief to come to him. “You said you would do *anything*.”   
Levana tensed even more at the mocking tone, but obediently shuffled over and knelt awkwardly before him. In a movement so quick she could only see a slight blur for a fraction of a second, the convict reached out an arm and trapped the thief’s shoulder in a large hand. He gave it a tug, and she followed warily, fearing where this was going. However, he situated her in the same position she had first woken up in after being wounded, cradled between his legs with her torso resting against his broad chest.  
She waited for the other shoe to drop, waited for the convict to tell her what he wanted next, and then continued to wait as no further orders were coming, verbal or otherwise. He leaned comfortably against the wall, and Levana rested against him. The warmth coming from the wall of muscle behind her was oddly comforting, making her feel, against all odds, safe. Several more minutes passed, and Levana could feel his muscles relaxing where her back made contact with his chest.  
When he had thrown her desperate plea back in her face, she had expected ‘anything’ to involve rape at the best and she didn’t want to think about the worst. But right now, all he was doing was using her as a living blanket of sorts, although she felt that she was even more comfortable than him in this position, minus the fear of course. Eventually, she turned her head slightly to catch a glimpse of Riddick’s face, and found him entirely relaxed with a lazy grin, his eyes ever watchful yet somehow not as sharp as they were before.   
The thief waited a bit longer, then decided that if he was going to kill her, it would be on his own terms, in his own time, so she may as well get comfortable for now. She cautiously leaned back a bit more and rested her head against his broad shoulder. When he gave no protest, she even snuggled in just a bit and against her will found herself once more drifting off to sleep.


	5. Decisions

When the girl had snuggled in against him as though he were a nest of fluffy pillows, the convict’s eyebrows had risen in surprise, but not displeasure. The sound of deep, even breathing indicative of sleep mere moments later caused a small grin to creep across his face. She was confusing to fall asleep while so near to him. He understood why the young thief was so terrified of him; heck, anyone who wasn’t terrified of him wasn’t all there in the head.   
He found her innocence and naivety amusing, and decided that he was disinclined to acquiesce to her request for death. The convict had no desire to kill her, quickly or otherwise, and was somewhat startled at the almost protective feeling rising in his chest. He was unused to such a feeling, unused to watching out for anyone but himself, but he easily understood why he felt such a thing. Before the crash of the Hunter-Gratzner and Fry re-awakening his sense of humanity, he probably would have killed the girl on principle, but things were different now.  
In the slam, there was only one, universal rule. Kill or be killed. Eat or be Eaten. So on and so forth. It was a very rare, if not entirely unheard of, occasion that a prisoner would willingly help out another prisoner, let alone put themselves in the line of danger for no good reason. When Riddick had first woken up after passing out in his cell post-fight, he had taken in his surroundings with surprise.  
The last thing he had been expecting was a cellmate, knowing that the guards assumed he would kill anyone within his reach just for kicks. He had initially tried to rise, planning to look over his new companion, when he felt the stretch and pull of stitches in his chest. A quick glance at his wounded chest revealed an expert bandage job, and he could smell the faint bitterness of a medical salve of some sort. Knowing full well the guards had nothing to do with it, he had looked over to the sleeping form opposite him with even greater interest.  
Had he been in that situation, he would have ghosted such a threat when it would be the simplest thing in the world, or at the very least let the body lay. Why would this stranger bandage him, and do such a careful and thorough job? His musings were interrupted when a guard shoved a gruel-porridge monstrosity and a skin of water through the door, and he heard the stranger stirring before rising quickly.   
Keeping his eyes open very slightly so he could still see while appearing to be asleep, he noted with shock that his cellmate was a very young female, probably only a couple of years older than Jack. He wondered what she could possibly have done to bring down such rage from the guards that they would leave her to him like some virgin sacrifice. He heard the girl moving quietly, drinking a bit of water before taking the food and water and approaching him.   
Riddick decided to remain still, curiosity getting the better of him as he wondered what the girl planned to do. He was once again surprised when she very gently fed him water, using a common technique to hydrate someone unconscious. He had to make an effort to remain still and silent, stifling a grin at her obliviousness. When she reached for his bandaged chest, however, he tensed instantly, instincts telling him to protect his vulnerable chest.  
Fortunately, there was a commotion at the door at the very same time, and the girl gently set him down to investigate. When her back was turned, he inhaled the scent off of the cloth under his head serving as a pillow. Interesting. He had sensed no malice or vicious intent off of her, yet this garment smelled of hardship and hard-won survival. He found himself wondering what she did for a living before being sent to slam.  
He couldn’t help but grin as the girl flashed a rude hand gesture at an unseen person outside the cell, although his eyebrows rose slightly when he heard the guard’s reply. Just because he was a murderer, that didn’t make him a monster. He had no desire to forcibly rape someone trembling in fear, he just didn’t find any appeal in it. The convict liked to describe his ‘type’ as alive and willing. See ‘willing’. So when he heard the saucy reply from the (thief, apparently, although that still didn’t explain such an extreme punishment as bunking with him), he realized that she assumed the same as the guards, and he found his confusion growing.  
If she expected him to rape her, and then probably kill her, why had she tried to help him heal? Why not ghost him while he was at his most vulnerable? He truly had no idea. So when she returned to kneel behind him once more, he found himself tensing silently in preparation to defend himself, just in case she had changed her mind after that little chat with the guard.  
The little thief very gently examined his wounds, re-applying the bitter scented salve and binding his chest again. She then ran very gentle, small, warm hands over his head, feeling for something. Seemingly satisfied, she then checked his breathing and pulse, and finally his forehead for fever.  
He had to suppress another grin, knowing that she was confused that he had not awakened yet. She lifted his shoulders to rest against her upper body once more, and fed him more water and a bit of some watered-down porridge. When she gently laid his head back upon the little pillow and rose, he followed her with his eyes, seeing her perfectly clearly in the dim room. She looked worried, and afraid, and she began to pace. After a couple of minutes, she smoothly transitioned from pacing into a flowing form of martial arts, showing a great deal of skill in the process. The convict was intrigued by this strange healer-thief-fighter.  
A short time later she seemed to feel his gaze, and whipped around as she sunk into a crouch. He remained still, and in a moment, she straightened and then went to a corner opposite his and lay down. Her eyes closed, and he knew that she would sleep deeply. He rose silently, effortlessly, barely noticing his wounds anymore, as he strode over to where she lay. She shivered slightly in her sleep, and he gently laid her cloak over her as she slept.  
Her unusual actions had intrigued him, but it was the incident that had happened next that caused him to make up his mind to not kill her. When the guards came for him after another punk from the previous day’s brawl had died, he had been ready for a fight, eager to ghost a couple of guards. So when the thief stepped between them, it was the last thing the convict had been expecting. Watching through his nearly-closed eyes, he was astounded as she killed both the guards in short order, although obtaining a wound in her thigh, all to protect him.  
That had been the final straw, and he had risen quickly to his feet, his little charade over. When the thief turned to look at him, her dark blue eyes widened with sheer terror, and she tried to stagger away from him. Even in these circumstances, he couldn’t help but make an offhand comment about how she didn’t smell like a murderer, causing her to flinch and retreat further. He allowed himself a grin at that, and followed her lazily, knowing full well she had nowhere to go.  
When she collided with the wall behind her, she let out a gasp of pain and fear, and suddenly he couldn’t see as much humor in the situation. Her breath was coming in short gasps, and he sped up slightly, trying to get to her without spooking her further. It was then that the thief slumped to the floor, and promptly blacked out. He had lifted her light body with ease, and bandaged her wounded thigh to prevent further blood loss and infection.  
He then made himself comfortable on the floor, and drew the girl up against him in a similar fashion to how she had held him, allowing her body to rest against his. When she had woken once more, he had teased her and taken great delight in testing her limits. However, when she continued to be utterly terrified of him when he had yet to cause her any harm whatsoever, he was slightly displeased.  
His mind was firm that he would not kill her, but he decided to punish her by continuing to mess with her. At that last plea though, when she had desperately begged him to kill her quickly, swearing that she would do anything, he felt a slight pain in his chest that didn’t come from any knife. He brushed it off initially, and made his way back to his corner before commanding her to join him. She had done so with great fear in her eyes, and the convict was left with a very unfamiliar feeling of guilt. The thief had done a great deal for him, far more than he could ever had expected, and he was still toying with her.  
The convict would never kill her, he decided. Never rape her. Never cause her any permanent damage or lasting harm unless she tried to kill him. So when her trembling finally stopped as he drew her against him, he felt a different sort of feeling (affection?) fill him. Having lived as an orphan since the day he had been found as a babe with his umbilical cord wrapped around his neck, he had been alone, without any family.   
The only one who had ever come close to being considered family was young Jack. But when the young thief who had risked her life for a stranger snuggled against him and trustingly fell asleep, even while thinking that he would yet rape and kill her, the convict felt a strange sensation come over him. Looking down at the innocent face, he finally defined with words that strange feeling. Family. Pack. Mate? No, he decided, she was too like a cub, and the animal within him saw something different. *Little Sister*. Protect.


	6. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that this is so short; I just wanted to wrap it up so I could begin focusing on the sequel.

When Levana next opened her eyes, it was to catch a glimpse of Riddick’s back disappearing through the door that had somehow swung wide open. She heard shouting, and gunfire, and then an ominous silence. It took her a moment to wake up fully, and when she did she leapt to her feet and raced to the doorway, peering out into the corridor. Bodies of the guards unfortunate enough to have been on duty in this section today littered the floor, and Levana saw her chance to run and took it.  
There was no sign of her ex-cellmate anywhere beyond the trail of dead bodies, and Levana assumed that this was most certainly not the first time he had broken out of a prison. Once she made it to the docking bay of the prison, it was almost too easy to hijack a small transport ship that shockingly had light-speed capabilities. The young thief couldn’t help but grin with unsuppressed glee at her nearly effortless escape. She set the coordinates for a small, nearly uninhabited planet in a direction opposite from where she had lived before being imprisoned.  
As she settled into the pilot’s chair, she couldn’t help but muse about Riddick. The convict had had every chance to kill her, yet time and time again he spared her life. He hadn’t raped her, hadn’t even seemed to consider it. Who was this man?  
She continued to think about him even as she unknowingly traveled in the direction of an extremely dangerous and rapidly growing threat. The threat was moving slowly but surely toward the Helion system, although it wasn’t likely to get that far for another couple of years. And in her small, swift little star-jumper ship, Levana was headed all too quickly directly into the path of the Necromonger fleet.  
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Flying to a frozen moon near to the Helion system was Levana’s ex-cellmate. The mercs had found him entirely too easily when he had tried to blend in on an inhabited planet, so now he decided to hide out somewhere that was entirely uninhabited. Originally, he had not planned to stay where he had told the Imam he might go, but now it seemed to be the best option available. He would just have to trust that the man would not betray him.  
Riddick found his thoughts wandering to the young thief who had so willingly helped him, and he hoped that she, like Jack, would be safer without him around. When the convict finally arrived at his destination, his first thought was, ‘Well, this is gonna be cold.’

 

The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AAANNNNDDD... the sequel may be a bit longer than I thought right at first. But, I am almost done editing and polishing the first couple of chapters, so I will post them soon. Hopefully. Also, I drew a very, very crappy sketch of chapter 2. I am horrible at drawing. But I put it up anyway. It can be found here: http://sincorah.deviantart.com/art/Riddick-Wounded-560172534

**Author's Note:**

> All reviews are welcome, but please no flames, unless you feel it absolutely necessary. Then by all means. Thanks for reading!


End file.
